


FLAVORS OF VILLAINY

by teacuptaako



Category: Music Mix - Fandom, Original Work, Villains and CRIME!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:48:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28809903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuptaako/pseuds/teacuptaako
Summary: A musical mix with accompanying snapshots of those in a rather delicate situations.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2
Collections: Secret Snipers Exchange 2020





	FLAVORS OF VILLAINY

**Author's Note:**

  * For [owlphallacies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlphallacies/gifts).



> snake: happy s4s-versary! event! surprise! thing! the prompts i grabbed and ran with: shenanigans, songs to be evil to, being gay and doing crime!
> 
> read each blurb as you listen to the song and then let your imagination take you away~~

**FLAVORS OF VILLAINY - AN OVERVIEW**  
_SNAPSHOTS OF THOSE IN THE MIDST OF RATHER DELICATE SITUATIONS._

[ **SPOTIFY** ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4T0YqmQy7qhdP4ZrSZKRWD?si=BvOtQcBKQkqYXCyCP3YB4A) **||** [ **YOUTUBE** ](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLydiKb2Fxe1EqazgjhyWWOD5WSPykc-l2)

  
  


Impulsive Evils-- “We Must Be Killers,” by Mikky Ekko  
A man comes to himself with blood dribbling down his collarbone, staining his pressed-collar shirt. His knees ache: the gravel he’s kneeling in has pressed pebbly dents down his legs. A vicious knot holds his shoulders and entire lower back hostage. He’s not sure how long he’s been crouched here, in the alley, in the spreading pool of red, but the distant howls of police sirens tells him it’s been far too long already. His breath starts to come back. His hands start to shake with the suddenness of it. And so he stands up, stumbles backwards, harring off with the scrape of shoe against rock and forgetting, in his haste, to pull his knife back out of the corpse.

Youthful Evils-- “GOSHA,” by $NOT  
The kids clearly can’t afford to be in here. As an experienced and tactful sales clerk, you don’t do anything to shoo them out-- in places like this, all that needs to happen for them to feel unwelcome is for them to register that no prices are listed on any of the merchandise. The sway of the confident bass over the speakers seem to have emboldened this group over the ones you usually deal with. There’s none of the twitchiness most teenagers have, and they instead seem to be riding low on some sort of invisible current: a surety guides them, a bounce of adrenaline. One gestures you over with a casually confident hand. And the movement is so natural, so sure of itself, that it takes you a second to register the gun.

Domestic Evils-- “I See Red,” by Everybody Loves an Outlaw  
Even as she’s doing it, she reflects the scenario is a bit cliche. The steak dinner, the cyanide. The unsuspecting husband, arriving home late, bundling himself into the dining room with his mind still in the board room and his hand proprietary and low on his little wife's back. She smiles at him as she dims the overheads and lights up the long, thin, household candles instead. This, too, is standard: the beautiful lie of a content household. Her husband goes to his death under her calm eye, choking at first on a bite of meat, and then hacking, and hacking, the intensity of it only going on, as she observes and does nothing. As she sips her tea and nibbles the last of the potatoes, she reflects that when the papers find out, to complete the cliche, they will make whispers of an affair. A heartbroken wife getting revenge. But they’d be wrong-- not everybody needs a reason. Sometimes you just hate a guy. 

Corporate Evils-- “Bad Alive (English Version),” by WayV  
Three women stand around a computer terminal in a company only one of them works for. It’s not suspicious. It’s social. The three are swapping lighthearted laughter and murmuring pleasantly to each other, livening the atmosphere to such a degree that none of the other room’s occupants want to disrupt them. The workplace is usually such a dull and bland place to be, a sterile bank of desks where tired men shuffle numbers from one spreadsheet to another, listening to the uninspired wheezing of their own breaths and to the broken air conditioning. And surely there’s nothing wrong with enjoying the eye candy: it’s like a breath of fresh air to have them, dressed in bright colors with equally bright eyes, smelling gently floral and sweet. So there’s no suspicion at all, there's joy, even as those numbers they’re managing start to get markedly smaller, and the women’s laughter gets just that much sharper.

Rambunctious Evils-- “oops!” by Yung Gravy  
The best part isn’t when they all explode at once, but when one of them turns out to be a dud. Vanya laughs, high and wheezy in her throat, watching the confusion in the faces of the minion underlings (or whatever) as they proud at their sensors, trying to find out why charge seven didn’t go off, only for the whole damn earth to blow to goddamn bits underneath them. They're in the testing bay of some crackpot old dude's villainous lair, and the boom and crack of dynamite echoes beautifully off the cavernous walls. A surprise fireworks display! It’s not precisely what they paid her for-- surely Darth Lord Volde Death (or whoever) thought that his explosives delivery would mean _undetonated_ charges. And, Vanya notes, as the minions give up on research and start running for their lives, he did get those too!

Midnight Evils-- “Weight of the World,” by Shayfer James  
A man watches you. He can’t see you exactly, the fog and rain obscuring you too heavily, but he clearly knows that somebody’s standing stock still on the marshy hills, holding death in their chest. You weigh the shovel in your hands, adjusting the balance, shifting from left to right even as your heavy boots sink further down into the wet mud. If it came to a fight, one clean hit with this thing directly in his trachea… A long moment passes. The wind creaks through the trees, promising the man something. He likes what he hears enough to nod, a motion you can barely make out, and then start to wearily walk back down the path, his lantern swinging with his stride. The light eventually leaves you. You grit your teeth and feel them grind. There’s nothing to be done about the detective now. Nothing to do but get this grave deep enough that his dogs will never sniff it out.

Graceful Evils-- “A Little Wicked,” by Valerie Broussard  
It’s hard to take the kid seriously. Especially with the way her boyfriend’s managing her: steering her from person to person in the elegant ballroom, guiding her when she’s so clearly out of her depth. She’s gnawing on an h'orderve like it’s a graham cracker. The way she's holding to his arm speaks of somebody absolutely unwilling to let go. Dear heavens, there's almost claw mark son the poor boy's arm. Absolutely classless. And it’s because nobody wants to look at her head on, because there’s something so pitiable and embarrassing about the way she clutches to her partner, that it goes quite unnoticed that the boyfriend is pale and unusually tremulous. That as he introduces her to more and more influential people, the sniper-trained red dot on his back never once moves away.

Back Alley Evils-- “Smells Blood,” by Kenuske Ushio  
The snake insignia becomes the uniform after their boss kills that guy with one. Until that moment the gang didn’t have a legend behind it. They were only held together by a shared resentment of the place they came from and a hope to tear most of it down as they got the hell out. A goal they all believed in, but after the snake thing-- there was a rallying point, suddenly. A rumor to spread. People to menace with venom-soaked blades, pinning them down, “ _if you think this is bad, just wait until you see what we’ve got in the cage at headquarters…_ ” And it was funny, in a way, and emboldening, that they could shed their skins and come back sharper. They mark their territory with big looming vipers, the teeth slashes of silver, disproportionately large and terrible. And if the terrible beast they actually have in their HQ is the boss' little sister's corn-snake? Well, it doesn't usually come up with the guy you're mugging.

**Author's Note:**

> snake emojis (x100) (affectionate)
> 
> in case the hyperlinks don't work/for easy c+p:  
> youtube -- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLydiKb2Fxe1EqazgjhyWWOD5WSPykc-l2  
> spotify -- https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4T0YqmQy7qhdP4ZrSZKRWD?si=ioel4LNPTZyscrbn3UtT2w


End file.
